I'm Only Just Getting Started
by Notalittlegirl
Summary: One-shot. Highschool AU, punk!UKxFrance to an extent. Rated for bullying. Arthur Kirkland had no right waltzing into my school like he owned the place, parading about in those tattered rags he called clothes. I, Francis Bonnefoy, will not stand for it.


_Based on the song "I'm Only Just Getting Started" by Nashimoto-P feat. Hatsune Miku. Thanks for reading! _

I'm Only Just Getting Started

Everyone has a story to tell. Some are happy, some are sad. Some are interesting, some boring. It doesn't matter, though. Everyone has a story to tell.

There are some people who can just take one step into another's story, and it's changed forever: for better, or for worse. To me, Francis Bonnefoy, the one person who has single handedly morphed my story from a terrible, pointless tale to something at least bearable, and getting better every day, is Arthur Kirkland. He changed my story in a way that is different from anyone I've ever seen.

He came to MY high school in the middle of October, dressed in his ripped up clothes and spouting nonsense in his high and mighty British accent, every bit a "punk." He acted as though he thought that he was so cool, I couldn't stand it.

I was the cool one. In fact, the coolest of the cool. Everyone knew the name Francis Bonnefoy, the beautiful, French junior that was loved by everyone, and who was happy to love them back.

Arthur Kirkland was nothing compared to me , and I was by no means afraid to tell him that. I honestly believed him to be below me.

He wasn't hesitant to speak his mind about me, either, calling me "Frog," and a plethora of other degrading names. So I told him that he was scum- a disappointment to the human race.

One day, I noticed that he actually got really good grades.

"What are you trying to do, Artie?" I scornfully called out to him, "Get into a good college? They don't accept people like you, you know."

"My name is not 'Artie,' it's Arthur you bloody git!" He shouted back at me, earning a disapproving glance from a passing teacher. But he didn't retaliate to my jab, so I counted it as a victory.

A few days later, he was storming down the hall. Everyone he passed turned away from him, laughing behind their hands at his silly rough demeanor and dumb clothes. When he reached where I stood, I blocked his way down the hallway. He looked at me, not with an angry expression gracing his visage, but a pitying one.

"It's sad, you know. That none of you know any better. Now get the hell out of my way, Frog." He pushed past me and my gaze followed his backside down the hall. He obviously knew about the laughter, but he never looked back. Not even once.

Later that day, during lunch, I almost acknowledged the truth in his earlier words, which had been haunting me all morning. However, I couldn't live with the truth, much preferring to confront him directly. With an awful insult on my tongue, I made my way to where he was sitting. He was all alone, and I slid into the chair across the table from him, before letting him know what I thought about him. How he was nothing but disgusting garbage.

"You haven't seen anything yet." He said, strongly, but not all that loud. "You don't know how strong I actually am, but let me tell you, I'm stronger than you think. Maybe I'll show you one day. Say what you want about me now, but someday you'll realize just how wrong you are."

With that, he picked up his lunch, which hardly even looked like food, I might add, and stormed out of the cafeteria before he gave me a chance to respond. I shouted at his retreating behind, "Are you threatening me?" But he was already gone.

The next morning, I walked into school with a grin on my face, only to find an idiot punk boy leaning on my locker door, arms crossed, and ridiculously thick eyebrows drawn into a scowl.

He had every reason to be angry with me, considering the circumstances. The night before, I'd angrily painted the words: "Worthless Trash" on his locker. No one threatened me and got away with it.

The look on his face was so determined, though. Angry, certainly, hurt, probably a bit, but determination shone out as the primary expression. As soon as he saw me walking toward my locker and him, he slammed his hand on my locker, adhering a note to the door, then turned around, flipped me off, and walked away.

When I reached my locker, I was tempted to rip the note down and crumple it into a ball and discard it without reading it, but my curiosity got the better of me, so I unfolded it to read.

"I may be worthless trash today," I read, "but tomorrow, you may be the one going out with the rest of the rubbish.  
A. K."

His threat didn't scare me, but it made me realize that he was beginning to get serious about all that.

But I continued on with my life, although I began to notice him, all around. If there was ever an outcast in that school, it was him. But he somehow found it in him to be kind to anyone that wasn't a member of my circle of friends. Everyone we didn't like or shunned, he was there, appealing to them. His kindness gradually won them over.

I started to see that maybe I was wrong.

Early one morning, well before school started, I was entering the building early to catch up to my homework I'd forgotten the night before.

Arthur was already there, sitting on the landing of the main staircase, cradling an old, beat up, electric guitar. He was playing some song, but he was really good. The sounds the guitar were making were so full of emotion, as though Arthur was baring his soul to the empty school.

I quietly approached him, and he didn't notice me until I got quite close to where he was sitting. He jumped up.

"Wh… What the hell are you doing here, Frog?" He stammered, completely surprised and blushing bright red out of embarrassment.

I replied: "I go to school here too. In fact, I went to school here first." But my retort was rather half-hearted, since I was shocked by the music the punk had been making. I suppose I'd never considered the possibility that there could possibly be more to him than met the eye.

I was pushing past him, but as I walked by I quietly said, "Don't stop playing, though, just for me."

I don't know if he heard me, but he did start playing again, chords taking on an angrier tone as they echoed through the empty building.

The school was quiet that early in the morning, with the few people who were there at that hour stumbling around in a tired stupor. The melodies from Arthur's guitar echoed around each corner of the cold school.

Later that morning, after I'd finished my cursed math homework, I was walking back to the front door to wait for my friends. However, as I passed the main stairs, Arthur had drawn an incredible crowd. Everyone in the school who maybe wasn't accepted by my friends and I were gathered in the lobby around a stunned looking punk, who was strumming his guitar loudly to songs requested by his audience, who all were singing along. His voice was much smoother than I'd anticipated by his speaking voice; it was actually quite pleasant to listen to.

I was struck by a sudden desire to join the crowd, noticing how much fun they were having. But I quashed it with a scornful laugh at how ridiculous they looked, and pushed through.

The bell soon rang, and I turned and looked behind me at the dispersing crowd. I saw Arthur smiling, genuinely smiling, as he put away his guitar. I'd never seen him actually smile before.

The rest of the day, Arthur was somewhat of a center of attention. He was walking around surrounded by admirers. But he seemed uncomfortable, like he wasn't used the the attention. Over the rest of the day, his little entourage got tired of him, and by the end of the day, he was alone again.

I walked up to him after the last bell, and a smirk grew across his face.

"Hello." I said in an almost questioning tone. It wasn't meant that way, but I was unsure and off balance, I suppose.

"What fresh torment have you got for me today?" He replied in a disgustingly cheery tone of voice.

"A compliment. If you think you can handle it." I sarcastically shot back. I was actually really unsteady of what I was going to say, having not thought it over before I'd walked over to him.

He raised one eyebrow, motioning for me to continue.

"Your music was really… good." I finished, and turned to go. I was afraid of being seen with him. I was almost a painful thought.

He grabbed my arm with a solid grip. "Really?" He asked, disbelievingly.

"Yes. It was nice." I replied inadequately.

"Oh. Okay." He said, shocked. I was shocked too. That wasn't something I'd thought I'd ever say.

Then I left, having nothing left to say.

The next week passed fairly normally. Arthur went back to his normal position at the bottom of the social pyramid, and all was right in my world. Except for a lingering feeling of unease in the pit of my stomach, but I found plenty of things to distract me.

My friends returned to mocking every aspect of the British boy. I, however, stayed out of it. I just didn't feel the need to torment him.

I saw him after school, hurrying out of the building when he was cornered by a mob of people that I knew and were friends. He was obviously not doing anything to them, and it struck me that that was kinda unfair. I heard them jeer at him; calling out all the names I'd dubbed him: scum, and a disappointment.

He slammed his way through them, shouting "I promise I'll show you all someday, but for right now I'm at my LIMIT! LEAVE ME ALONE!"

I saw him run from them, but it didn't seem fitting. He was too proud to run. So I followed him. I sprinted out the door and chased after him.

He ran a little ways before slowing to a walk. He pulled out headphones adorned with a British flag and placed them over his ears, which probably helped me to follow him without being heard.

We walked for a long ways, with me at a good distance behind him, before he turned into a cemetery. When I reached the gate, I paused, debating over the morals of following him into what should be a kind of sacred type of place. I eventually decided to, my curiosity getting the better of me.

Arthur walked down rows of gravestones slowly and deliberately, looking around. He walked a fair ways into that solemn and silent place before stopping.

I snuck up behind him to eavesdrop, despite knowing it was wrong. I'd already been the biggest jerk ever to him; I couldn't do that much more harm.

"Peter…. Little Brother, I'm sorry." He said quietly. "Everyone says I'm a disappointment. I hope you don't think that. The future that you had all planned out for me… Well, it doesn't look like it's working out quite yet. Not if I stay the way I am now. I need to get better for you. So, how's the weather in heaven….." His voice trailed off.

I could hardly stay silent, an apology springing to my tongue but biting it back, not wanting him to know I was there.

"I promise I'll keep going for your sake though. You never got the chance to go to high school, so I'll stick to it for you. No matter what I'm like, I'll keep fighting through this hell for you." He bowed his head as if in prayer, but I noticed his shoulders shaking in silent sobs, and heard the tears in his voice. After a moment, he stood and walked away, and I caught a glimpse of his tearstained face.

I never though I could see someone so proud cry. But then again, he was sure he was alone, so he didn't have to be proud.

I walked over the grave he'd been sitting at, and read what it said on the stone.

"Peter Kirkland.

2000-2012

Live out your life in Heaven like you were never given the chance to here on Earth."

It must have been Arthur's younger brother. I had no idea that he'd even had any siblings.

My heart sank. I'd never realized just how much Arthur must have been through. And a lot of it was my fault. I began jogging home, not caring about the wind messing up my hair. I was thinking about what he'd said. It was my fault that he felt like he didn't have a future. I was such a terrible person.

The next day, I came to school early in the hopes that he'd be there so I could apologize. Fortunately or unfortunately, he was there.

The sky matched my mood: grey and raining. I jumped out of my car and began running toward the building so as to not ruin my appearance. But Arthur was standing outside of the door, outside of the shelter the building offered, with his face up to the rain.

I pulled an umbrella out of the backseat of my car and walked over to him. I held the umbrella over both of our heads so that I could begin my well rehearsed apology.

"Look, Arthur…" I began.

"What do you want?" He snapped, looking me straight in the eyes. We were the same height, so none of his deathly glare was deflected by a height difference.

Through my eyes, if felt as though he could see my very thoughts. Thoughts that I didn't understand myself.

So I scrapped the apology I'd been practicing all morning.

"Look, I was an asshole to you. I'm sorry." I said, plainly as possible.

"Damn right you were." He agreed. "You're terrible."

"But, now I'm sorry." I told him.

"Alright."

"Does that mean that you forgive me?" I asked.

"I don't think so. But I really do appreciate the apology. No one else is probably ever going to do that." He replied. He smiled a tiny bit, (I think) and walked into the building, without offering me a clear answer.

He ignored me for the rest of the day.

The next morning, the whole atmosphere of the building was different. Arthur had his guitar again and was playing. There was less of a crowd gathered, but then I joined that crowd, sitting just above the rest on the steps and listening with a smile. At one point, he looked up and noticed me there, looking at me for the first time without the usual scorn in his eyes.

And he wasn't the only one who noticed, though. As more people saw me, sitting on the steps, and actually approving of Arthur, the crowd began to grow.

He finished his song, and the crowd, which at this point consisted of as much of the student body would fit into the small lobby area, cheered. He looked a tiny bit shocked, and I smiled.

He hesitated going into the next song, and I took that as my opportunity to begin to make up for all that I put him through.

I stepped down from the stairs and stood next to him, giving the crowd my most brilliant, blinding smile. I whispered in his ear a song that we probably both knew and he nodded and began playing an introduction.

I sang with him, and I have to say, our voices had a very nice blend. But that doesn't even matter. What matters is that everyone there saw that I accepted Arthur. I didn't even need to say anything, because the looks on their faces showed that they understood.

At the end of the song, I said to him, "I'm really sorry," and held out my hand for him to shake. And, albeit hesitantly, he did.

The crowd cheered again. That crowd, which was made up of all the people, some who were my friends, some who my friends and I had shunned. But maybe they could be my friends after all. After seeing how Arthur and I could get along, who could ever know?

He grinned thankfully as he played the next song, smiling the whole time.

And I realized that even though this peace throughout the student body probably wouldn't last, the change in me would. The kindness of an outcast, though it wasn't shown to me, changed my whole world. I'm forever grateful to Arthur for that.

The change might not last, but it's definitely started something. The whole school is starting to break down walls that had been there before, and it's a really good change. I bet no one even realized how much better the school could get, but better it was getting.

And we're just getting started.

* * *

_Please, if you liked it, or if there were any mistakes, please review! I would love it if you point out any mistakes I might have made!_

_Thanks for Reading~_


End file.
